Sunday, April 30, 2006
Wishes, Dreams, and Goals
I registered for a marathon yesterday. The registration deadline is tomorrow, so that kind of pushed me past the vacillating I have done about the decision. This particular marathon selects participants by a lottery, so I will not actually know if I have been accepted until next week. As I wait to hear, and as summer draws closer, I feel the twinges of excitement that accompany setting and planning for a new running goal.
Parents and teachers have encouraged me to set goals my whole life. At times I balked and rebelled at conforming to what I perceived to be an inflexible regimen. But as I matured, I began to see that dreams and goals are fundamental in making progress. They fire the imagination and furnish the impetus that is necessary to achieve success.
While some goals in my life remain long-term and constant, I alter and adjust others. Ten years ago I would not have considered running a marathon. But a mere thought planted in a fertile mind developed into a wish, grew into a dream, and finally burgeoned into a hardy, solid goal. I completed my first marathon in 2000.
Now my goal is to finish ten marathons, and I am three shy. My creaky knees remind me that there is a limit to my marathon madness, and that I may not be physically able to reach this number. Even so, in the 26.2 mile long run coming up in October, I hope to come a little closer to keeping that ambition alive.
Parents and teachers have encouraged me to set goals my whole life. At times I balked and rebelled at conforming to what I perceived to be an inflexible regimen. But as I matured, I began to see that dreams and goals are fundamental in making progress. They fire the imagination and furnish the impetus that is necessary to achieve success.
While some goals in my life remain long-term and constant, I alter and adjust others. Ten years ago I would not have considered running a marathon. But a mere thought planted in a fertile mind developed into a wish, grew into a dream, and finally burgeoned into a hardy, solid goal. I completed my first marathon in 2000.
Now my goal is to finish ten marathons, and I am three shy. My creaky knees remind me that there is a limit to my marathon madness, and that I may not be physically able to reach this number. Even so, in the 26.2 mile long run coming up in October, I hope to come a little closer to keeping that ambition alive.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
"The Play's the Thing..."
You’ll never see it on Broadway, but it will have a two-night run on the tiny stage in the gym at my church. I’m the writer, producer, and director of THE STRONG FAMILY, a one-act play that will premiere next month. Although the actual play is quite simple, its production has somewhat complicated my life. I’ve tediously juggled and rearranged performance dates at least half a dozen times because of conflicts with the high school Prom, Seminary graduation, a Father/Son overnight campout, and a school concert. I’ve been cowed by assembling a cast that began losing members before rehearsals even started. (Didn’t they realize that this was their big chance at stardom?!) Thankfully I now have a complete cast, but scheduling rehearsals that don’t interfere with the actors’ work, school, athletic practices, church meetings, and other family events has been a challenge. I’m still fretting over a set that at this point consists only of a floral couch, and I’m clueless as to how to construct a working door. And I’m anxious about attracting an audience on opening night.
But, despite the obstacles, there are definite bright spots. The youngest cast member, 10-year-old math whiz Tyler, plays his part with little affectation, and has come up with some clever additions to the script. Alex, the tomboy in the play, comes early for rehearsals, and is a natural as she delivers her lines with a cute swagger. Josie, the teenage daughter, (who is in reality a very smart girl) does, like, a totally amazing job, when she like, talks really fast, and like, you know, totally acts like an airhead…duh. And as for Brad, her boyfriend, what can I say? He’s awesome…AND hot!
The adult actors have been quick studies too—from learning to give advice like Dr. Phil, to practicing an ear-splitting scream, to making their slightly flawed characters likable and believable. My assistant director has been superb, providing sound suggestions, support, and props. I have hope and confidence that because of the enthusiastic, hard-working spirit of the cast and crew, no obstacle will thwart THE STRONG FAMILY. Even though it will not be a long run, it will be a strong run.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Listening Between the Lines
Every so often I engage in a simple personal activity just for my own amusement. I sit very still and…listen. I count the number of different sounds I can identify. For instance, if I sit motionless at my keyboard right now, this is what I hear:
My computer humming and scratching.
The clacking of my husband at his computer keyboard in the next room
The squeaking and shifting of his office chair
The furnace blowing
My son rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen downstairs
The wind howling outside my window
A vehicle driving by
I would not consciously acknowledge any of those sounds but for my little experiment. Our brains register lots of sounds all the time, and many of them we have learned to tune out. We don’t pay any attention to them, or even notice that those sounds are there, except when we are very still and quiet ourselves, or when we purposefully listen, expecting to hear something.
Listening, though, demands more than simply hearing. Hearing is mere recognition that the sound exists—listening utilizes knowledge and experience to give meaning and context to a sound or a spoken word. It is a complex skill rather than an innate sense.
Listening can occur even when no sound is present. This kind of listening necessitates assimilating and connecting non-verbal cues, and “hearing” what is not written or not said by reading between the lines. Honing, and then using this advanced skill may, in almost any case, yield very clear, though inaudible, responses to questions that are posed, but seemingly remain unanswered.
Whether I send a message as a silent speaker, or whether I attempt to be the attuned listener in this wordless communication form, I keep my ears and eyes open. And if at first, I fail to hear, it may be in the long run, while pounding the pavement, and mulling over such matters, that I actually listen between the lines.
My computer humming and scratching.
The clacking of my husband at his computer keyboard in the next room
The squeaking and shifting of his office chair
The furnace blowing
My son rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen downstairs
The wind howling outside my window
A vehicle driving by
I would not consciously acknowledge any of those sounds but for my little experiment. Our brains register lots of sounds all the time, and many of them we have learned to tune out. We don’t pay any attention to them, or even notice that those sounds are there, except when we are very still and quiet ourselves, or when we purposefully listen, expecting to hear something.
Listening, though, demands more than simply hearing. Hearing is mere recognition that the sound exists—listening utilizes knowledge and experience to give meaning and context to a sound or a spoken word. It is a complex skill rather than an innate sense.
Listening can occur even when no sound is present. This kind of listening necessitates assimilating and connecting non-verbal cues, and “hearing” what is not written or not said by reading between the lines. Honing, and then using this advanced skill may, in almost any case, yield very clear, though inaudible, responses to questions that are posed, but seemingly remain unanswered.
Whether I send a message as a silent speaker, or whether I attempt to be the attuned listener in this wordless communication form, I keep my ears and eyes open. And if at first, I fail to hear, it may be in the long run, while pounding the pavement, and mulling over such matters, that I actually listen between the lines.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Food, Glorious Food
On my recent short trip I noted again a phenomenon that has struck me on other trips. Travelling whets the appetite. Yes, you might say. Travelling piques our interest in new places, cultures, and peoples. I agree, but in this instance, I mean literally that travelling makes me hungry. Or to be more succinct, I think travelling makes me avaricious and voracious when it comes to food.
Eating a little more while on a trip sounds normal, right? My trip included wedding and birthday celebrations that quite logically produced copious amounts of enticing edibles. But I was perplexed by the fact that I not only ate much larger amounts of food at each repast than I normally would at home, but I also found myself craving even more!
I blame some of this self-defeating behavior on my mother. It started the morning after my arrival. To be fair, first she did offer me my usual bagel. A bagel.....AND a giant muffin, AND cereal, AND blueberry waffles, AND a banana AND an orange AND of course a big glass of milk because I “don’t get enough calcium” in her opinion. That breakfast started the pattern of eating much more than I needed, or really wanted. And it only got worse.
For instance, at the wedding brunch we enjoyed a dinner salad along with a fruit plate, chicken cordon bleu with bacon mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls and butter, and cake. Plenty of food for a lunch, right? And I thought I felt sated. Then why was I coveting the half-eaten chicken so nonchalantly left on the plate of the guest to my right? Why did I salivate uncontrollably at the second slice of cake mistakenly placed before me? And why, on a full stomach, was I already relishing the thought of the upcoming wedding reception refreshments?!
Throughout the trip, the next meal and its menu were constantly on my mind. And in between meals my eagle eyes vigilantly scanned the food-scape for something on which to graze—crackers and cheese, pretzels, jelly beans, trail mix, licorice, nuts, Easter eggs, ice cream, dried fruit—I was not picky. And I was not particularly hungry either, yet I was compelled to eat. But why? As I analyzed my behavior, I decided that perhaps the stressful situations triggered my eating. Or perhaps it was a survival instinct. Since I was not entirely in control of when and what I would eat, I ate whenever and whatever I could!
Now that I’m back home, the craving and covetousness are gone. Thankfully, the urge to binge has disappeared. Today, old-fashioned oatmeal and savory soup replaced the high-calorie cuisine and scrumptious snacks that allured me. And I hope the last vestiges of my food frenzy will dissipate in the long run that I will take later this week.
Eating a little more while on a trip sounds normal, right? My trip included wedding and birthday celebrations that quite logically produced copious amounts of enticing edibles. But I was perplexed by the fact that I not only ate much larger amounts of food at each repast than I normally would at home, but I also found myself craving even more!
I blame some of this self-defeating behavior on my mother. It started the morning after my arrival. To be fair, first she did offer me my usual bagel. A bagel.....AND a giant muffin, AND cereal, AND blueberry waffles, AND a banana AND an orange AND of course a big glass of milk because I “don’t get enough calcium” in her opinion. That breakfast started the pattern of eating much more than I needed, or really wanted. And it only got worse.
For instance, at the wedding brunch we enjoyed a dinner salad along with a fruit plate, chicken cordon bleu with bacon mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls and butter, and cake. Plenty of food for a lunch, right? And I thought I felt sated. Then why was I coveting the half-eaten chicken so nonchalantly left on the plate of the guest to my right? Why did I salivate uncontrollably at the second slice of cake mistakenly placed before me? And why, on a full stomach, was I already relishing the thought of the upcoming wedding reception refreshments?!
Throughout the trip, the next meal and its menu were constantly on my mind. And in between meals my eagle eyes vigilantly scanned the food-scape for something on which to graze—crackers and cheese, pretzels, jelly beans, trail mix, licorice, nuts, Easter eggs, ice cream, dried fruit—I was not picky. And I was not particularly hungry either, yet I was compelled to eat. But why? As I analyzed my behavior, I decided that perhaps the stressful situations triggered my eating. Or perhaps it was a survival instinct. Since I was not entirely in control of when and what I would eat, I ate whenever and whatever I could!
Now that I’m back home, the craving and covetousness are gone. Thankfully, the urge to binge has disappeared. Today, old-fashioned oatmeal and savory soup replaced the high-calorie cuisine and scrumptious snacks that allured me. And I hope the last vestiges of my food frenzy will dissipate in the long run that I will take later this week.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
You Could Learn A Lot From Being a Dummy
“Hi, my name is Vince. Do you wear your seat belt?” I crouched down to the toddler’s level. He took one terrorized look at my molded plastic head with mesh eyes and mouth, and burrowed his head into his mother’s leg with an apprehensive whimper. His mom apologized, “He’s usually more friendly.”
I hope I didn’t do more harm than good during my brief career as a crash-test dummy. My supervisor had pleaded with me to wear the uniform as part of Healthy Kids Day at the YMCA. “You’ll be perfect!” she gushed. (What was THAT supposed to mean?! No wisecracks about my being blonde, or having spent years priming for the part, please!) “Besides, the mask is too big for me and I can’t see out the eyeholes,” she cajoled. Although skeptical, I agreed to play the dummy. Sarah, a co-worker who is young and adventurous enough to probably try anything once, volunteered to be Larry, the other dummy. She and I tried to talk up the “opportunity” at our staff meeting. “We’re going to be the stars of the whole event,” we bragged. “You all will be wishing you were Vince and Larry!” The staff smiled politely and kept their mouths shut.
At 11 AM on Health Kids Day, we donned the hazard symbol-emblazoned uniforms that we would mindlessly wear for the next two hours. Larry’s was powder blue, mine sedate slate. The jumpsuits were all right, not really form-flattering, but hey, dressmaker dummies don’t have clothes at all, so we considered ourselves lucky. The headgear, however, was nearly intolerable. The two Mr. Potato Head-like pieces screwed together at the neck, and then clamped shut at the top with large magnets. And the magnets worked. It was suffocatingly claustrophobic. To make matters worse, the masks had been cleaned with some malodorous chemical that probably came from a container marked with a hazard symbol itself. It was tough to breathe.
Visibility was another immediate problem. I never realized before how much I depended on, or used my peripheral vision. As I walked, I felt like I had to keep my arms stretched out in a permanent lateral arm raise, just to keep my balance. I kept losing Larry, even when he/she was standing right next to me, because I couldn’t see him/her. “Larry? Larry?! …… Larry!!!” I nearly panicked, and spun around in a circle until my tunnel vision focused on Sarah standing right by my side. We decided to stick together.
There was an interesting benefit to being Vince despite the discomforts. Very few people knew who I was, and the anonymity gave me a giddy sense of power. It was like I was spying on people even though I was in plain sight. Most of the adults I talked to did not know my identity, although they were acquainted with me. I was tempted to say something playfully outrageous (which I didn’t) or really dumb, which I did (only to solidify my character.) After all, it was Vince, not I, who took the fall. And he’s used to crashing and burning.
Our main responsibility was handing out small bags full of goodies—bandaids, seat belt key chains, coloring pages, stickers, and pencils. At times it was hard to find takers for these freebies, because the kids were frightened of us. Chuckles, the clown, had a long line of adoring kids waiting happily for balloons. We, on the other hand, could send alarmed children fleeing with one step in their direction. One mother confided, “My kids think you’re aliens. Don’t feel bad.” Not aliens, we’re DUMMIES promoting car safety! “Always buckle up!” we called out cheerily, with a thumbs up gesture, as the youngsters eyed us warily from a distance.
We decided we might be able to improve our image by joining the dodgeball game in the next gym. Maybe the older kids would think we were cool. That was a dumb idea, but that’s what kind of ideas dummies have. We were the obvious targets, and the kids showed no mercy. When you’re having trouble breathing to begin with, why make it worse by running around and trying to avoid being pelted by balls?! We overheated in a hurry, and needed some fresh air. We deserted dodgeball and headed for the back door to go outside. As we walked down the hall behind some of the other kids who had also left the game, one girl turned around, and asked disdainfully, “Why are you following us?!” Apparently no one wanted to see us, OR be seen with us.
Two hours of being a dummy actually went by fairly quickly. Surprisingly we ran out of goodie bags, and began giving away stickers that said “Give me a hug. I wear my seatbelt!” But now Vince has gone back to knockin’ his noggin in the crash tests. Although I don’t plan to play that character again any time soon, it was a memorable experience. I learned something about handicaps, acceptance, tolerance, and patience. And if I motivated (or scared) one child to habitually wear his seatbelt, then in the long run, being a dummy was worth it.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Perky and Plucky
Once upon a time I had aspirations of being a television personality, or a news anchor. I graduated from college with a degree in broadcasting, and enjoyed several stints as a reporter, news anchor, or production crew member for my college television station. Although I have never worked full-time in the business, I have always thought myself to be a worthy critic of those who do.
“I don’t like her,” I have said to my husband about most female anchors, not just once, but repeatedly, and in fact, almost every time I see them on television. My husband has come to expect these declarations regularly, so he often needles me by feigning surprise. “Really?! I didn’t know that,” he banters.
Why don’t I like them? I’m forced to resort to a teenage phrase. They “think they’re all that.” I’m sure these journalists have excellent technical skills, but some of them seem arrogant and condescending, and even close-minded and biased in a profession that touts its impartiality.
But I did admire Katie Couric. I’ve been a Today Show devotee for several years, and try as I might to dislike Katie, I could not. I did not always agree with her political views or social opinions, but I could not help but respect her presence of mind, quick wit, aplomb, and grace in handling news stories and situations ranging from extremely delicate or dire to fanciful fluff. I applauded her pluck, and even tolerated her irrepressible perkiness. She always carried herself well, and she earned my grudging acceptance. I was disappointed to learn I would no longer be sharing some of my morning with her.
I heard today the news about her replacement. “I don’t like her,” I immediately announced to my husband. “Imagine that,” he teased. I know my hasty indictments are a bit harsh, and that in fairness, I should at least give this interloper a chance in her new venue. I also realize that some of my dislike of the women stems from jealousy, so I will probably always find something to disparage about each new anchor. So in the long run, maybe I’ll just watch Katie Couric, and pronounce my ultimate commendation upon her: “I like her.”
“I don’t like her,” I have said to my husband about most female anchors, not just once, but repeatedly, and in fact, almost every time I see them on television. My husband has come to expect these declarations regularly, so he often needles me by feigning surprise. “Really?! I didn’t know that,” he banters.
Why don’t I like them? I’m forced to resort to a teenage phrase. They “think they’re all that.” I’m sure these journalists have excellent technical skills, but some of them seem arrogant and condescending, and even close-minded and biased in a profession that touts its impartiality.
But I did admire Katie Couric. I’ve been a Today Show devotee for several years, and try as I might to dislike Katie, I could not. I did not always agree with her political views or social opinions, but I could not help but respect her presence of mind, quick wit, aplomb, and grace in handling news stories and situations ranging from extremely delicate or dire to fanciful fluff. I applauded her pluck, and even tolerated her irrepressible perkiness. She always carried herself well, and she earned my grudging acceptance. I was disappointed to learn I would no longer be sharing some of my morning with her.
I heard today the news about her replacement. “I don’t like her,” I immediately announced to my husband. “Imagine that,” he teased. I know my hasty indictments are a bit harsh, and that in fairness, I should at least give this interloper a chance in her new venue. I also realize that some of my dislike of the women stems from jealousy, so I will probably always find something to disparage about each new anchor. So in the long run, maybe I’ll just watch Katie Couric, and pronounce my ultimate commendation upon her: “I like her.”
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Finders, But Not Keepers
“Finders, keepers, losers, weepers.” A selfish little rhyme that inexplicably makes people feel justified in pocketing something that does not belong to them. But is the value of the found object relevant when deciding whether it is acceptable to keep it?
A San Francisco man recently found a purse full of jewels worth $1 million, and turned it in to the police. In a television interview, the man said that even if he had known the value of the jewelry, he still would have done the same thing. The interviewer’s reaction bothered me. She seemed intent on extracting some greedy confession from the guy. “Did you think about what you could do with that kind of wealth?” she goaded. The man answered simply that it was the right thing to do to turn in the purse.
Just a few days before I saw this story on TV, I found a dollar bill on the hall floor at work. I took it to the main office to turn it in. The business manager smiled a little patronizingly and told me just to keep it. I pressed her to set it aside in case the rightful owner should come to claim it. She reluctantly accepted it.
Simple decency and conscionable behavior require the return of a lost article to its owner. One dollar or one million dollars—in the long run, it should not matter.
A San Francisco man recently found a purse full of jewels worth $1 million, and turned it in to the police. In a television interview, the man said that even if he had known the value of the jewelry, he still would have done the same thing. The interviewer’s reaction bothered me. She seemed intent on extracting some greedy confession from the guy. “Did you think about what you could do with that kind of wealth?” she goaded. The man answered simply that it was the right thing to do to turn in the purse.
Just a few days before I saw this story on TV, I found a dollar bill on the hall floor at work. I took it to the main office to turn it in. The business manager smiled a little patronizingly and told me just to keep it. I pressed her to set it aside in case the rightful owner should come to claim it. She reluctantly accepted it.
Simple decency and conscionable behavior require the return of a lost article to its owner. One dollar or one million dollars—in the long run, it should not matter.
